


Burning At Both Ends

by prydon



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Chronic Pain, Other, Suicidal ideation (past), Terminal Illnesses, Trans Peter Nureyev, this is a heavy one folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25654990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prydon/pseuds/prydon
Summary: Nureyev felt like his entire abdomen was on fire, and he curled in on himself, shaking and biting back a moan of pain. It didn’t matter how many times it happened, he still felt like he was dying.Which was probably because he was.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 14
Kudos: 103





	Burning At Both Ends

**Author's Note:**

> My first couple Jupeter fic were so sweet, and now...this. Oops. I saw the "Nureyev has a terminal illness" theories and I could not stop thinking about them, so...here's something based around that concept.
> 
> It's pretty dark, for obvious reasons. Be mindful of your mental health before reading. If it makes you feel better, though I didn't write it, I have decided that in the universe of this fic Nureyev IS saved by the Curemother, so...there's something.
> 
> Also ftr Nureyev is always trans in my heart and in my fic but I went ahead and actually tagged this one as such because it's the first to make explicit reference to it lol.

Every morning that Nureyev went to sleep beside Juno in bed and woke up to him still there, the warmth of his form still beside him and not having disappeared into the dark and abandoned him, was a good morning.

Well, _almost_ every morning.

The moment Nureyev awoke, he knew this one was going to be bad.

Sometimes there was a reason- the barometric pressure of the particular day, or the climate or weather of the planet they were on. Most of the time it was perfectly random, though. Today was just one of those days when his body decided it was not going to agree with him and instead be in excruciating pain.

It wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to. The pain was always there. Sometimes it was just an underlying thrum in the background of his existence, sometimes an unpleasant but manageable presence in the foreground- but more and more often recently it was an all-consuming blanket of agony, suffocating him and making something as simple as getting out of bed nearly impossible.

Usually this wasn’t much of an issue. He took a lot of sick days, but the other members of their crew seemed to be under the impression that he just had a weak immune system and liked to be a drama queen. He didn’t bother to correct them. If they wanted to believe that, it was all the better for him. The last thing he wanted to do was make them aware of his condition. The last thing he wanted was to make Juno aware of it.

That was going to be a bit difficult now that the lady was in bed beside him, though.

He was surprised he hadn’t been in this situation before, honestly. It was probably because Juno didn’t usually spend the whole night with him, and even when he did, he’d usually get up before Nureyev, wake him up to give him a morning kiss, and then abscond to his own room to get dressed.

This time they’d slept in Juno’s room, though.

Nureyev couldn’t stay here without it being obvious that something was seriously wrong, but he also knew he couldn’t make it back to his own room in the state he was in. It felt like his entire abdomen was on fire, and he curled in on himself, shaking and biting back a moan of pain. It didn’t matter how many times it happened, he still felt like he was dying.

Which was probably because he was.

Not today, though.

He felt Juno shift beside him and screwed his eyes shut, forcing himself to stop trembling and pretend to be asleep. Juno sat up and stretched, letting out a loud yawn. He reached over and shook Nureyev’s shoulder.

“Babe, I’m up. I’m gonna hop in the shower, so if you need to do your makeup you can just go back to your….” Juno trailed off. He’d taken his hand away and Nureyev could hear the frown in his voice. “Nureyev, you’re soaking. Are you all right? It’s like…freezing in here.”

Nureyev naturally ran cold, and since Juno naturally ran hot, the temperature was always turned way down in his quarters. There was no excuse for the sheen of sweat covering Nureyev’s body other than, of course, that it wasn’t the result of heat: it was the cold sweat that always accompanied the pain on his worst days.

“Mm…fine…might be sick…” Nureyev managed. Even talking coherently right now was a near insurmountable task.

“If you’re sick I can go get Vespa-”

_“No.”_ Vespa was the ship’s doctor, and she was a very good one, which meant she would definitely know immediately that this wasn’t some simple fever. “I’m okay. You…just shower.”

Juno seemed uncertain about leaving him, but eventually did pull himself away and go to the bathroom. Nureyev listened to the sound of the water running as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He hoped he would fall asleep- sometimes when he did, he’d wake up later feeling better- but as usual the pain was keeping him awake. He squirmed on the sheets, trying to find the comfortable position that he knew full well didn’t exist. There was no such thing as a comfortable position when everywhere ached.

Juno came over to him again after he’d showered. He was wearing a crop top and skirt that Nureyev was certain he would have found adorable had he been in the headspace to appreciate such things. “Still feeling bad?”

“Tired…” Nureyev mumbled into the pillow. The same old lie he’d been using since he was a teenager.

“All right. Stay here until you’re ready, and beep me on the comms if you need anything.” Juno knelt down and kissed him on the temple. “Love you.”

“Love you…”

On the way out, Juno apparently ran into their captain. Nureyev heard them talking through the closed bedroom door.

“There you are,” Buddy said. “Family meeting’s in five. Where’s Ransom? I haven’t seen him.”

“Still in bed. Seems like he’s sick.”

He heard her swear. “Of course he is. I swear, that man has the immune system of a newborn dove.”

“It’s not his fault,” Juno protested.

“Yes, well, remind him to wash his hands after the next mission, will you? I must admit that we could really use him around.”

Nureyev dug his fingers into one of the numerous pillows surrounding him, trying to clear his mind. He hated that there was nothing he could do in these times, no drug or yoga position that could alleviate the pain. All he could do was wait, and the waiting lasted longer and longer recently. It used to only reach this level every month or two, and only for a couple of hours. Now it was nearing once a week, and in the worst times it could last all day.

This seemed to be one of those times. He was still curled up on the bed, shivering and moaning quietly, when Juno came back during lunch break.

“Nureyev…I brought food, if you’re up for eating it.”

He took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “I…think I had better not, I’m afraid.”

“You look pretty bad. Are you sure you don’t want me to call Vespa?”

“Quite sure.”

“…All right. Well, I’m going to eat here, if it’s all the same to you.”

Nureyev knew why this was happening. He knew why he was degrading more and more every day.

When he’d been first diagnosed as a teenager, he was told he wouldn’t live another five years, in his current situation- living as a penniless revolutionary on the streets of Brahma.

_“With the very best medical care known currently to humankind, you may live to forty,”_ the doctor had said. _“That’s the kind of care only the elite can afford, and even then…no older than forty.”_

He’d become a thief not long after that. Eventually, he’d even become a good enough one to pay for the care he needed, if he supplemented it with loans. Back then, forty had felt like a lifetime away. He’d been certain that a cure would be discovered before then, or some other means to prolong his life.

Now he was thirty-eight years old, waste deep in millions of creds of medical debt, and there was still no cure. He was going to die within the next two years. Within the next year, more likely, given certain…reckless choices. He didn’t want to accept that, but he knew he had to.

But Juno was beside him.

Juno was there, on the bed, casually eating his sandwich. Juno was here and he loved him. That thought alone was comforting and distracting enough that Nureyev was finally able to drift off into the welcome oblivion of sleep.

When he woke again, it was dark outside the ship windows, and while his body still ached the pain was nowhere near as all-encompassing and incapacitating as it had been before. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. He remembered a time when even this level of pain would have rendered him near-immobile, but he was used to it now. Now it was positively welcome.

He dragged himself out of bed and into the shower so he’d stop feeling quite so sweaty and disgusting. When he got out, he pulled on a fresh robe and then collapsed back onto the bed.

Juno had left a glass of water, some food, and a note wishing him well on the bedside table. Nureyev smiled when he saw it, feeling a rush of warmth flood into his chest. _Juno’s here and he loves me._

He knew exactly what he needed right now, so he grabbed his comms and contacted Juno.

The lady was there in an instant, looking concerned. “Nureyev, you’re awake. Are you feeling better? I promise I didn’t say anything to the others, even though I kind of really wanted to. I just said that you were just a bit under the weather, so-”

“Thank you, Juno. I’m feeling much better now.”

“You weren’t just a bit under the weather, though, were you? You looked…bad.”

“You sure know how to flatter a gentleman.”

Juno grimaced. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Well, as you can see, my condition is much improved,” Nureyev said. “It must have just been a passing affliction. I didn’t call you because I needed help, I did it because I wanted to be with you.”

On that note, he grabbed Juno and pulled him into the bed, kissing him hard. He immediately melted into the embrace, letting out an involuntary moan into Nureyev’s mouth. After a second he returned to his senses and forced himself to pull away, however.

“You’re certain you’re up for this, Nureyev?”

“Absolutely certain. And don’t worry, whatever…possessed me certainly was nothing contagious. You needn’t worry about catching it.”

They kissed, long and deep. It wasn’t a French kiss, however- Juno had learned his lesson about those on the first night they’d spent together. He’d attempted to slip his tongue into Nureyev’s mouth and had come away choking on his own blood, to the dismay of both of them.

_“Juno, you must watch out for my teeth!”_

It wasn’t an uncommon cosmetic procedure where Nureyev was from: the addition of large, razor-sharp canines to the teeth. He’d had it done not long after his bilateral mastectomy, in a fit of…well, something. Desire for change, perhaps. He didn’t regret it. They did make him stand out a bit, which was not exactly ideal for someone who made a career out of being an anonymous thief, but he thought they looked quite good. The only real inconvenience they wrought was the inability to ever let anyone French him, and his own inability to give hickies or bites without severely hurting his partner.

Juno knew better now, though. Juno knew every part of him better than anyone else. Nureyev knew him too, and smiled as his fingers traced down Juno’s torso to unbutton his skirt. He enjoyed the softness of the lady’s form in comparison to his, softer now than before- _“I’d always forget to eat when I was on a downswing,”_ Juno had told him last week. _“So when I’m actually doing better, I always gain a lot…and I’ve been doing better for a while now. Oh, well.”_

Nureyev certainly didn’t mind it. He gripped Juno’s hips as he was straddled by the lady’s impressive thighs, grateful for every inch of flesh on him, every pound that meant Juno Steel was happier and healthier now than he had been before. His pain felt like a distant memory as he stared up at that beautiful, scarred, one-eyed face.

How lucky was he, that he got to spend the last year of his life with this person? Asking for anything more would be nothing short of selfish.

They made love like it was the first time and the last time. They always did, moving against each other so desperately, so passionately. Juno could sense that Nureyev wasn’t really in any state to take control, so he did instead, guiding them both to a gentle sort of ecstasy, all the while talking quietly about how beautiful Nureyev was and how much he loved him, as though he could sense that was what the man needed right now.

It was the good kind of sweat that Nureyev was covered in by the time they were finished, the warm sheen of a night spent together with the person he loved. The soreness he was feeling now was the good kind, too.

“Night, babe,” Juno said softly.

“Don’t go,” Nureyev said, more desperately than he’d intended. After spending all day in bed alone, he didn’t want to be alone anymore.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Juno kissed him on the bridge of his nose. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Juno stretched and yawned, and even that was beautiful. Their lives were shared now. Everything about them was shared. For the first time in a long time, Nureyev didn’t doubt for a second that Juno wanted him and not anybody else. That he really did love him completely and entirely.

He stared at the ex-detective’s dark, scarred back. How would he react, if he knew how numbered Nureyev’s days were? If he knew he was part of the reason they were so numbered?

No, that wasn’t fair. He couldn’t blame Juno for his own stupid actions.

A year and a half ago, Nureyev had experienced the best and the worst night of his entire life.

He and Juno had just pulled off their unbelievable escape from Miasma after being trapped and tortured together for weeks, and Juno almost sacrificing himself in a moment of great recklessness and disregard for his own life. As soon as Juno had been able to leave the hospital, they’d gone to a hotel together.

They’d talked, made love, and talked again. They’d decided on a future. They were going to leave the city together, hand in hand, and go out to explore all the planets that the universe had to offer. They’d made love again, and then Nureyev had admitted something wholly embarrassing.

Afterwards he had drifted off to sleep with Juno beside him, feeling happier than he had in decades. Feeling like maybe he wouldn’t mind if he only lived a few more years, as long as he got to spend them with this person. He’d slept deeply. The sleep of someone who finally had something to look forward to.

Then, sometime in the middle of the night, he’d half-awoken to the sound of rain pattering on the windows and booted feet walking away. He’d pretended not to hear the latter, but when he awoke to an empty bed, he couldn’t pretend anymore.

Juno had left.

No note, no explanation. Just gone.

Nureyev had laid in that bed for hours, just staring at the wall, waiting for him to return and knowing he never would. When he finally pulled himself out and went to the bathroom, he’d stared at the pills he’d spent thousands of creds on and then dumped them into the bathroom toilet.

It had been a slow, quiet kind of suicide.

All the medicine and procedures and surgeries were keeping him alive, but not in the immediate sense. It hadn’t felt like suicide, just like giving up- but then again, he supposed those were the same thing. He spent months letting his health and body deteriorate and not doing anything about it. Why should he have? The last good thing he had, the last hope, had walked out on him. What did the last few years of his life matter if he had to spend them alone?

How awful, he’d thought. How dreadful it was to allow someone to know you like nobody else had, touch you like nobody else had, only for them to walk away. On his worst days, he'd imagined Juno finding out about his death and reveled in the knowledge of how devastated the detective would feel. On his best days, he hoped Juno would never find out. That he'd live the rest of his life under the misconception that Peter Nureyev was still out there and hadn't succumbed to illness years ago.

A new employer had found him when he was so sick he could barely move. They’d forced him into a hospital bed, done all the procedures and given him all the medication they could until his brain and body were mostly functional again. Then they’d propositioned him: _one job, and I can pay off all your debts._

So Peter Nureyev had taken on a new alias as Peter Ransom, and he’d agreed to the job, mostly because he was tired of being miserable. Mostly because he realized that he didn’t want to die in bed. If he was going to die, he might as well do it while doing what he loved best: stealing and scamming other people. He didn’t want to die by Juno Steel’s hand, anyway. How disgusting, that he almost had. How embarrassing that he’d almost let love kill him.

When they’d met again two months ago, Juno had been different. Not just happier, but kinder. He’d apologized profusely. He’d articulated all the feelings he’d been dealing with when he’d left Nureyev in that bed, all the baggage, and why it had made him leave. He’d told him that it wasn’t his fault, and that he’d always loved him, and had immediately regretted abandoning him.

The worst part was that even if he hadn’t apologized, Nureyev would have fallen right back into his arms. He’d tried to hate him and barely lasted a day. He was in love with Juno Steel, and nothing could change that.

And Juno loved him too. This new Juno had so much love to give, and he gave it all to Nureyev. He seemed to love nothing and no one more. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Nureyev.

What was Nureyev supposed to tell him? _By the way, I’m going to be dead within a year. It might have been two years, except that after you betrayed me I felt so horrible that I stopped trying to stay alive and let myself get way worse on purpose._

All the self-worth that Juno had worked so hard to cultivate over the past year would be gone in an instant. He’d be miserable. He’d loathe himself over what had happened, and what was going to happen. It’d be depressing. Nureyev didn’t want that. He just wanted the last year that he had in the universe to be a good one, and to spend it with the love of his life, and be happy.

Juno couldn’t know. He could never know, not until the very second Nureyev died.

Nureyev moved over in the bed, wrapping his arms around Juno’s warm body and pressing his face into his hair. He closed his eyes. It was depressing, really. For the first time in decades, he actually had something to live for, and he wasn’t going to live to appreciate it.

A tiny part of him was screaming that he should pull away: he ought to vanish into the night without explanation like Juno had, to spare Juno the pain of losing him. A bigger, more selfish part of him refused to let himself go, however. Refused to let Juno go.

He didn’t care how painful it would be for Juno; he still wanted to be with him to the very end. He wanted to die in his arms. Everything else had been taken from him, so couldn’t he at least be allowed that?

He hoped so. He really did.

**Author's Note:**

> One upside to having experienced serious pain in your life is being able to use that experience as a reference for your writing! Whoo! Anyway thank you for reading, sorry for the sadness, and as always comments are greatly appreciated <3


End file.
